DEVON DEUCHARS
FOREVER 25
June 11, 1991 - April 2, 2016
A beautiful, compassionate, loving soul, a pure heart has left us and we, the ones who loved him and were cared for deeply by him, have lost a piece of our souls.
My boy, my love, my light.
My boy, my love, my light.
mom, Sue Jolife-deuchars
OF LIFE IN A CAGE, AND TRYING TO ESCAPE
Author's name withheld
My friend died two nights ago.
He was so many things. Compassionate, soft, loving, musical, soulful, funny, caring, empathetic, wise, and also, vulnerable.
We met when we were both 16 and in high school. We gravitated towards each other recognizing a common yearning for something different. Our circle of misfits found comfort together, smoking out the back side of our high school and collectively finding an identity for ourselves. I remember it fondly. It was a time when our mistakes would be forgotten and our we thought our choices had little repercussions. Our teenage minds and bodies felt growing pains like no other. We experimented and rebelled, we were trying to carve out a place to belong, we followed the things that made us feel free.
Our stories our all different but carry a chain of similarity though out them. We were restless in a society that didn’t fill the void in our hearts. Looking for meaning and a purpose, born into a world that doesn’t cater to those sensitive souls who don’t fit in.
Devon loved to travel, make music and ride the rails. He felt deeply, loved strongly, and cared so much about those he chose to surround himself with. He was one in a million, and he gave himself entirely to other people. He would literally give the shirt off his back to someone who needed it more.
The summer I left Kingston, at age 16, I hitchhiked west and completely unplanned ran into a mutual friend of mine and Devons on the other side of Canada. We sat in front of the McDonalds in downtown Victoria, BC, after busking for change and talked. I remember asking about Devo. My last memories of him before I left had been tainted by experiences with hard drugs we were both using and I had distanced myself from him, knowing my care for him was falling on deaf ears. Ben and I reminisced and I remember making hypothetical plans of buying an old school bus and scooping up Devon (with a butterfly net, it was very specific!) and a few other friends who were still stuck in our old town and bringing them West. Travel was an escape and a weight off of his shoulders. For us the road meant freedom and happiness. The mixture of the mountains and the oceans on the west coast seemed to be a elixir of fresh air and contentedness that healed us. Sitting on the side of the highway with a bag and your thumb out, or hopping a train, was a option that was always there like an old friend. A freedom that was otherwise unattainable. A feeling that could not be captured elsewhere.
I don’t know Devons side of the story, but he found that escape elsewhere in the form of addiction.
I’m an adult now, and medicated to be able to function “happily” in my life. I suffer from anxiety and depression, not because I am broken, but because similarly to Devon, I feel too much. We are all ok. Those feelings are normal, and they occur for a reason for people who feel strongly and thoroughly. The sad truth is that our society is not built to be lenient to emotional outbursts or days where you cant get out of bed. How are people like us expected to learn to love ourselves when our own emotions and the way our brains work can be ostracized. The rat race is never ending and the barrage of information, consumer orientated pressures, and societal ideals are too much for the majority of us to bear un-medicated in some way.
I am so sorry Devo. I am sorry that you were not able to comprehend the love we all had for you, I am sorry you had to fight against a battle waged on you by your body and mind and addiction. I am sorry the world is unforgiving and you were not able to find happiness here…. But I KNOW that you are now free. Your soul can finally rest and heal. You can be with us on the road and on the rails, or wander where you please. You can finally know how much we all love you and care. You can know the tears we shed will go towards creating a better future for those who struggle the same struggle you did. You can know you made a different in all of our lives, and the caring, humble and pure way you existed shone right through your dirty punk ass.
We fucking love ya buddy. I am happy you’re free.
He was so many things. Compassionate, soft, loving, musical, soulful, funny, caring, empathetic, wise, and also, vulnerable.
We met when we were both 16 and in high school. We gravitated towards each other recognizing a common yearning for something different. Our circle of misfits found comfort together, smoking out the back side of our high school and collectively finding an identity for ourselves. I remember it fondly. It was a time when our mistakes would be forgotten and our we thought our choices had little repercussions. Our teenage minds and bodies felt growing pains like no other. We experimented and rebelled, we were trying to carve out a place to belong, we followed the things that made us feel free.
Our stories our all different but carry a chain of similarity though out them. We were restless in a society that didn’t fill the void in our hearts. Looking for meaning and a purpose, born into a world that doesn’t cater to those sensitive souls who don’t fit in.
Devon loved to travel, make music and ride the rails. He felt deeply, loved strongly, and cared so much about those he chose to surround himself with. He was one in a million, and he gave himself entirely to other people. He would literally give the shirt off his back to someone who needed it more.
The summer I left Kingston, at age 16, I hitchhiked west and completely unplanned ran into a mutual friend of mine and Devons on the other side of Canada. We sat in front of the McDonalds in downtown Victoria, BC, after busking for change and talked. I remember asking about Devo. My last memories of him before I left had been tainted by experiences with hard drugs we were both using and I had distanced myself from him, knowing my care for him was falling on deaf ears. Ben and I reminisced and I remember making hypothetical plans of buying an old school bus and scooping up Devon (with a butterfly net, it was very specific!) and a few other friends who were still stuck in our old town and bringing them West. Travel was an escape and a weight off of his shoulders. For us the road meant freedom and happiness. The mixture of the mountains and the oceans on the west coast seemed to be a elixir of fresh air and contentedness that healed us. Sitting on the side of the highway with a bag and your thumb out, or hopping a train, was a option that was always there like an old friend. A freedom that was otherwise unattainable. A feeling that could not be captured elsewhere.
I don’t know Devons side of the story, but he found that escape elsewhere in the form of addiction.
I’m an adult now, and medicated to be able to function “happily” in my life. I suffer from anxiety and depression, not because I am broken, but because similarly to Devon, I feel too much. We are all ok. Those feelings are normal, and they occur for a reason for people who feel strongly and thoroughly. The sad truth is that our society is not built to be lenient to emotional outbursts or days where you cant get out of bed. How are people like us expected to learn to love ourselves when our own emotions and the way our brains work can be ostracized. The rat race is never ending and the barrage of information, consumer orientated pressures, and societal ideals are too much for the majority of us to bear un-medicated in some way.
I am so sorry Devo. I am sorry that you were not able to comprehend the love we all had for you, I am sorry you had to fight against a battle waged on you by your body and mind and addiction. I am sorry the world is unforgiving and you were not able to find happiness here…. But I KNOW that you are now free. Your soul can finally rest and heal. You can be with us on the road and on the rails, or wander where you please. You can finally know how much we all love you and care. You can know the tears we shed will go towards creating a better future for those who struggle the same struggle you did. You can know you made a different in all of our lives, and the caring, humble and pure way you existed shone right through your dirty punk ass.
We fucking love ya buddy. I am happy you’re free.